When the Quiet's too Loud
by Spectre-the-Zombie
Summary: There was a ringing in Junkrat's ears. He supposed there always had been if he thought about it, as far back as he could remember anyhow, but normally it was a subtle thing, a background hum he paid no mind to. Now it was a f***ing cat screech that made him want to beat his head against a wall. It was the quiet, really. It was the god awful stillness of this place.


There was a ringing in Junkrat's ears. He supposed there always had been if he thought about it, as far back as he could remember anyhow, but normally it was a subtle thing, a background hum he paid no mind to. Now it was a fucking cat screech that made him want to beat his head against a wall. It was the quiet, really. It was the god awful stillness of this place.

The outback had been a shitty world to live in but he'd been used to it. Grew up with one leg and half the people he met trying to kill him, and he'd hated it, but in a weird way it was still home. Had sunk its teeth into him good and proper. Back there you listened to every odd little noise on the off chance it'd be the warning you needed, that you could shoot the fucker trying to steal your food before they stuck a knife in your back... and even at night, in those weird places where all the animals went silent, even then there was an edge to it... like something ready to snap, a quiet you had to listen to...

But Overwatch headquarters were all wrong. There was nothing to hear but the shrill ringing of his ears, the emptiness felt as if it were smothering him. He needed to destroy something. Needed to because... because otherwise he'd bloody well lose it... more so than usual.

His hands shook as he twisted the wires of his latest creation.

In the days and weeks after leaving Australia Junkrat and his accomplice Roadhog had spread terror and mayhem with the exuberance of children unleashed upon the playground, he'd never thought twice about it. Could have blamed his absentmindedness for half the carnage, but the truth was simply that he had no idea what else to do. This was life. You stole. You killed. You survived. You listened to the noises, and you destroyed whatever the hell you pleased. You never stayed in one place too long, and you didn't ever hesitate. That was how it was. Or had been, he supposed.

Shit, he didn't know what he was doing. Joining Overwatch had been as spontaneous as most of his decisions. Maybe he'd just seen something he was missing, and he'd wanted to steal that too except he didn't really understand how. No matter what he did he couldn't get a grip on it.

The people weren't like Roadie, didn't get him, kept a wall up and didn't laugh at any of his jokes. They'd only been here two days but there was no welcoming party, and his earlier excitement dimmed when they left him behind on the latest missions. The place itself was pretty enough to look at but inside it set his teeth on edge. Too clean, didn't smell right, too white and empty and so... fucking... quiet. It was enough to make him scream.

And he almost did then, in a fit of frustration, but he stifled it and all that came out was a strained giggle. If things weren't working out then he'd return to the one reliable constant in his life. Explosions.

Then there'd be something to listen to and the ringing in his ears might finally stop and the tension would bleed away and he'd be back to how he aways was.

His eyes flickered over the bomb, admiring its design. I'd be a big one.

"What are you doing?"

The voice took him by surprise and Junkrat jerked off of the stool he'd been perched on, instinctively turning to face the threat. He bared his teeth but the woman remained unmoved, arms folded tightly across her chest. He remembered her, vaguely, but with a dozen members and his fickle memory he hadn't had the time for more than a fleeting first impression. Thought her name began with an S and she looked right snooty. Stared down her nose at him, twisted her lips like there was something particularly distasteful about his appearance. Well two could play at that game.

He leant back against the bench-top, tilting his head back and narrowing his eyes in what he imagined was an exaggerated air of superiority. In truth he looked ridiculous but Junkrat was spared the embarrassment of seeing himself.

"What does it look like?" he demanded, wafting his prosthetic arm over the nearly completed bomb as if showcasing it. "Can't a bloke build as he pleases?"

"Yes, but who told you you could be in here? This is a workshop."

"Yeah, and I'm workin'."

Her expression darkened. It was clear that what she really wanted to say was that this was her workshop, except that wasn't technically the truth and she seemed the sort to bother with technicalities. Junkrat wasn't the most perceptive, he'd always been too distractible for that, but he'd learned to read people in a confrontation. Had to be able to know when to shoot, when to run, when to blow the place to kingdom come. This woman glared at him like he was invading her territory. Sometimes that was the only warning you got before folk leveled their shotguns and let loose.

"Well ya ain't gotta look at me like that, Sheila, I can see when I'm not welcome," he said bitterly, snatching his bomb up in preparation to leave. Without the casing on it was a tangled mess of components, dangling from his fingers like a dead animal.

She seemed genuinely alarmed. "Is that live?"

"Course it is." He paused for a moment, then unable to resist himself he lurched forward, shaking it in front of her face. She blanched. The icy distain she'd perfected was lost in a moment of panic as she stepped back.

A shrill giggle escaped him. He didn't know why, but for some reason it was hilarious. "No need to get ya panties in a twist, ain't going off until I let it, perfectly safe, see?"

She composed herself. "I believe we have different definitions of that term," she replied. And there it was, that wall, that block he couldn't seem to get past. He seethed inside a little. "There's a secure area for the handling of dangerous equipment, it would be best if you took yourself there. The results might be... less detrimental."

"Reckon I'll do what I like." He drew himself up to his full height, balancing on his good leg. His spine protested but Junkrat knew there was no way she could look down her nose at him if he towered above her. People were used to seeing him bent double, scuttling about like a real rat. Gave them a bit of a shock when they realized he weren't as small as they always imagined.

The woman, to her credit, didn't so much as blink. "So long as you do not pose a threat to the security and peace of Overwatch headquarters you may do as you please."

Was that a warning in her tone?

"Fuck peace," he said, with far more force than he'd intended. "How do you stand it?"

That bemused her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's bloody..." He let out a small frustrated sound. "Ahhh you wouldn't get it anyway, bet ya like it here, sittin' about enjoying the quiet."

"I appreciate order."

"That's what I thought."

So he took his bomb and limped off, making his way through the white corridors of Overwatch with his uneven gait. The only sound was the clink of his peg leg on the ground and the steady ringing in his ears. And his muttering, he realized, hadn't even noticed he'd been doing that. He almost wanted to go back. Sure, the lady had a stick the size of a broom up her butt and liked to give him the evil eye but at least the stern distrust in her voice was something else to listen to, something to fill the void of this place with.

Ah to hell with it. He'd do what he always did when nothing else seemed to click, he'd blow things up. Make a big hole in Overwatch's stupid clean complex. Then him and Roadhog would piss off like everyone wanted, go back to life how it should be, running from one disaster to the next. He'd tried whatever this shit-show was, but they didn't belong. They were Junkers. They weren't meant to be locked in a box and left to stew.

He'd wandered through the place enough times he knew it, it had filled the time for a few hours at least. He had no trouble finding a suitable room to rig his creation in.

It was a big room, but whatever it's purpose was it was largely empty save for some boxes and Junkrat expected if he set the explosives off at the far wall he could watch from the doorway without too much risk. Explosions in tight spaces could be damn lethal, but here he'd have a good view. The noise would be enough to summon Roadhog and they'd take their leave soon after. He'd planned it all out in his head. This was how things had to go.

He toyed with the detonator for a minute, tossing it up and down while he stared at his handiwork from the door. No point delaying the fun.

Biting his teeth against his lip to suppress a grin he flicked back the safety and clenched his fingers down on the trigger.

Silence.

He stood there, frozen as he took in the intact wall and the total lack of explosion. And then the fury bubbled up and he screamed, a strangled noise that left his throat raw. Felt he was being strangled, from the inside out, in a way he'd never have the words to articulate. He flung the detonator aside, hobbling across to the bomb and kneeling before it.

He'd been distracted. Probably messed up the compounds, maybe got some wiring the wrong way round, it didn't matter... thinking about it didn't fix the tightness inside his own head, didn't get rid of the desperate energy he had nothing to do with. Looking at the damn thing just make it worse.

He turned his prosthetic hand into a fist and punched the bomb.

It was a stupid thing to do. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew it, it was exactly the kind of thing that had cost him his arm in the first place but logic had no place inside the hot mess of his brain. Didn't matter anyway. The casing was cracked and insides were exposed but still nothing happened. Somehow that was worse. He gave a wretched laugh, tearing at his own hair as he tried to think of anything but the incessant ringing of his ears.

It was too quiet, too quiet, too quiet and it wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't let him get away. He'd blown the remainder of his frag grenades the day before in the training grounds and his mines were long gone, he'd have to build something more but he didn't know if he could keep it together that long. He'd screwed this one up, now his hands were shaking worse than ever and his body had started to twitch in the way it did when the agitation got too much. Had to do something. Fucked if he knew what though. He hit his head against the wall and that pain, at least, was a distraction.

"What's the matter?"

It was the same lady from before, arms folded exactly as they had been when she'd first discovered him in the workshop.

Junkrat stiffened. "You followed me," he accused.

"I did." She didn't bother to lie, didn't bother to play nice. She stepped closer, around a pile of boxed until they were only feet apart. "I tried to set it out of my mind after you left but I could not shake the feeling that you might be fixated on destruction. I have no wish to see this place in rubble so I tracked you. It seems, though, whatever you planned has not worked out and you seem distressed, so tell me, what is the matter?"

He couldn't read what she wanted so he just spat out the truth. "It's too quiet, too still, don't ya get it? There's always something, noise or-or people or things happening but there's nothing here it's all empty and ya want me to sit about while you're off doing shit like some useless lug and I can't do it! I ain't... it's like..."

And he wasn't even sure why he was saying any of it except that it was better than the silence. "It's like an itch ya can't scratch cos it's not there, ya get me? And the more you think about it the worse it gets... I'm going batshit crazy here, there's gotta be noise, gotta be stuff or else it's just wrong and... holy dooley it just sets me on edge, right? Can't think straight, can't get me ears to stop ringing when there's nothing to block it out... I blow stuff up, 's what I do, can't stay here... don't think I'm cut out for this so you can bleedin' well sleep sound, me an' Hog'll be gone soon!"

She listened to his outburst, and when he was done she didn't look at him with the anger he had been expecting. Instead, there was something strange about her expression, an iota of understanding perhaps. She unfolded her arms and stepped closer, taking no notice of his confusion.

"I have trouble blocking out distractions," she said, and her voice as matter-o-fact as always. "I like everything to be perfect. I've learned how to keep most of it blocked out, and my headset helps me on the battlefield. There's so much going on it's easy to get caught up in the details, it allows me separate out what's important from what is not, stops me from finding fault with everything that isn't the way I want it to be. If the quiet bothers you, there are ways to deal with it. Ways other than what I believe you were planning."

Junkrat sat back against the wall and squinted at her as if trying to solve a puzzle. After his earlier rant he felt somewhat breathless, it had eased the pressure threatening to overwhelm him even if it didn't erase it. Allowed him to focus a little, take in the way she was watching him. He lifted a hand and began to chew on his dirt encrusted fingernails. "So whocha saying?"

"Did you know that Lucio listens to music while doing field work? I see no reason why you could not while in headquarters. What kind of music do you like?"

"Errr..." Junkrat had never thought about it. He knew about music, in an offhand sort of way, not that there had been much of it in the outback. It had never felt like a thing meant for him, just another luxury they'd had to do without and hadn't learned to take now that it was available. It still felt wrong to turn a shower on when he remembered how scarce water had been. There were things about that life that were hard to scrub away. "Crikey, don't think I know."

"Classical perhaps," she mused, apparently more to herself than to him. "The 1812 Tchaikovsky's Overture has... qualities you might appreciate. I'll see what can be arranged."

"Huh."

"As for missions, the most recent two were of the upmost priority. Winston and... other individuals deemed it best if you remained behind given that we have not had the time to truly integrate you into the team dynamic and a lack of coordination could have been disastrous. I'm sure there will be plenty of work in upcoming days where your skill set is most welcome."

Junkrat had no idea what to say. He hadn't had a conversation like this in... ever. People didn't talk to him like this, didn't encourage him, either they wanted something or they were busy making it clear how unwelcome he was. Even Roadhog had his own agenda, and while they'd built a proper companionship it wasn't founded on discussions like these. He floundered, certain that something was expected of him but at a loss for what. Had to be some kinda decorum for crap like this.

Sticking to gestures he was familiar with he swallowed down the remainder of his frustration and thrust his hand out to shake, offering a toothsome grin. "Right, well, cheers, uh... what was your name again?"

"Symmetra," the lady said, ignoring the proffered hand. "And you are welcome."

There was still no warmth in her expression, but nor was there the open distain he had first been met with. It felt like a step in the right direction.

"You uh... you ever need stuff blown up ya let me know."

* * *

 _So yeah, a little self indulgent and in need of some editing but I like to imagine that Junkrat's never really learned how to deal with calm, not after growing up the way he did and he's far too restless and agitated to be cooped up with nothing to distract him. Symmetra understands what it can be like when the world needs filtering. He'll take a while to get used to living with Overwatch. Hope you guys enjoyed and please let me know what you think!_


End file.
